


So What If I Care?

by MissCrazyWriter321



Category: White Collar
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Episode Tag: s02e14, Found Family, Friendship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Nightmares, Panic Attacks, Whumptober 2020
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-04
Updated: 2020-10-04
Packaged: 2021-03-07 16:08:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,761
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26820409
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissCrazyWriter321/pseuds/MissCrazyWriter321
Summary: “So let me get this straight.” Peter’s voice breaks through the silence, dry and amused. Neal’s heart drops, and he whirls around, eyes adjusting to the dark as he goes. There at the table sit Peter and Elizabeth, holding mugs and watching him in the shadows. “Your plan was to break into an armed federal agent’s house, when he’s recovering from being kidnapped, and… Not tell anyone?”-Post "Payback," Neal needs a little reassurance that Peter is okay.
Relationships: Elizabeth Burke & Neal Caffrey, Elizabeth Burke/Peter Burke, Peter Burke & Neal Caffrey
Comments: 12
Kudos: 152





	So What If I Care?

**Author's Note:**

  * For [escapismandsharpobjects](https://archiveofourown.org/users/escapismandsharpobjects/gifts).



> Hey, everyone! I wasn't planning to jump into this fandom until I finished watching the show, but the Season Two finale and all of the drama of Season Three is giving me feelings, so I wanted to write some Soft Comfort. Shout-out to escapismandsharpobjects for your wonderful whump; it's a big part of what inspired me to follow through with writing and posting this.
> 
> Also, this is more Whumptober-adjacent than a proper Whumptober entry, but it does fit the prompt "support," so I'm definitely counting it. Enjoy!

His phone buzzes, yanking him (rather rudely) from a lovely dream. As soon as he wakes, the details are lost, but he’s quite sure it had something to do with Satchmo cornering a ring of art thieves. … Probably just as well that he’s forgotten, actually. 

He blinks a few times, grappling for his phone. Behind him, Elizabeth groans. “Hmmm?” She murmurs, which probably translates to some combination of  _ what’s wrong  _ and  _ whoever’s calling you in the middle of the night better have a really good excuse or I will make them have a very bad day,  _ and her arm tightens around his waist. 

It’s not, he realizes quickly, a call. It’s an alert. 

_ The alert from Neal’s tracker.  _

Concern flickers in his chest, and he swallows, opening the alert. 

“Mmm, something wrong with Neal?” Elizabeth asks, and some day he should probably ask her exactly how she always  _ knows  _ when it’s Neal, but for the moment, he can only focus on his phone. 

“He broke his perimeter.” 

She goes utterly still. “Neal wouldn’t run.” Decidedly more awake now, and bordering on stern. “Especially not right now.”  _ Not right after you were kidnapped. Not when you’re vulnerable.  _ She doesn’t say it, but she doesn’t have to. 

“I know,” he agrees, and he’s surprised to find that he believes it. It sounds crazy, but after everything they’ve been through, he really does trust Neal. It’s the strangest friendship he’s ever had, but he can’t bring himself to doubt it. Not anymore. “Which is why this worries me.” One of them getting kidnapped is enough for the month, at least. 

Any concerns fade quickly when he sees exactly where Neal is going. 

“What is it?” 

He can’t help it; he smiles. “He’s coming here.”

-

He can  _ hear  _ his heart, pounding in his chest.  _ Not real,  _ he tells himself, again and again.  _ Not real. Peter’s fine. He escaped, Kellar can’t touch him, it’s over- _ well, not completely over; Kellar’s still out there, but he won’t go after Peter again so soon (probably)- _ and everything is okay.  _

It’s a poor excuse for a reassurance, and by the time the Burkes’ place comes into view, he can barely remember how to breathe. Everything in him is screaming that he missed something, and every time he closes his eyes, he sees Peter back in that cell. Only this time, he’s never walking out. He’s never waking up. He’s-

Forcing that thought almost violently from his mind, he sets to work picking the lock. It’s harder than he expects, although his shaking hands can’t be helping matters. Finally, it clicks open, and he pauses, listening for warning barks.

Nothing. Apparently Satchmo is taking the night off. That’s just as well, really; Neal has no interest in explaining this to anyone. 

He pushes open the door slowly, peeking into the house. It’s completely dark, and he slips inside, closing the door carefully behind him. He won’t stay long, he promises himself. He just needs to  _ see  _ Peter, to be sure that Kellar didn’t drop by to pay him a surprise visit. Really, this will only take five minutes, tops. 

“So let me get this straight.” Peter’s voice breaks through the silence, dry and amused. Neal’s heart drops, and he whirls around, eyes adjusting to the dark as he goes. There at the table sit Peter and Elizabeth, holding mugs and watching him in the shadows. “Your plan was to break into an  _ armed federal agent’s house,  _ when he’s recovering from being  _ kidnapped,  _ and… Not tell anyone?” 

_ Yeah, well, I didn’t want anyone to know.  _ He can’t say that, so he blinks, stalling for time. “Why are you guys awake? It’s three in the morning.” 

Peter shrugs. “I could ask you the same thing.” He nods toward Neal’s foot, and Neal winces.

“Right. Tracker. I…” Honestly, he completely forgot about it. When he woke, Peter’s fallen form still fresh in his mind, he’d only been thinking of one thing: making sure Peter was okay. “Sorry.” 

Unexpectedly, Elizabeth smiles. “Have a seat. We made you some tea.” She reaches over as she speaks, flicking on the light switch, and Neal tentatively makes his way to the table, sitting at the far chair. Sure enough, he finds a steaming mug that smells positively delicious. As much because he wants something to do with his hands as out of any real thirst, he picks up the drink, taking a sip. 

_ Delicious. Of course.  _

“So, uh…” He clears his throat. “Why were you guys drinking tea in the dark?” 

Elizabeth rolls her eyes. “Peter insisted. Said it would be  _ dramatic.  _ Seriously, how either of you can be dramatic at three AM, I have no idea.” 

Peter gives a nod of acknowledgement, but his gaze is fixed on Neal in a decidedly uncomfortable way. It screams of  _ concern,  _ and the absolute last thing Neal wants to do is worry Peter. (At least, not tonight.) 

“How are you holding up?” Peter asks finally, and Neal wants to laugh. Or maybe cry; he isn’t altogether sure. 

“I mean, shouldn’t I be asking you that? You’re the one who was just kidnapped.”

“I know.” Peter’s expression doesn’t change. “And I’m asking you.” 

His tone leaves no room for argument, and Neal ducks his head, staring down into the tea. He doesn’t want to explain, and even if he did, he doesn’t know  _ how.  _ He doesn’t know how to put into words that he’s terrified, jumping at shadows, afraid one of them is going to take Peter away. He’s a master of words and turns of phrase, but when it comes to words of friendship, it’s like he’s speaking a foreign language. How does one say  _ you can’t die, I don’t know what I’d do without you  _ without overstepping? 

Peter can wait all night, Neal knows. And Neal himself is stubborn, but stubborn enough to outlast Peter? He isn’t sure. 

In the end, Elizabeth is the one to break. “Neal.” Her voice is impossibly gentle, but somehow sad. “It’s okay to be worried about Peter. Believe me, I’m pretty much  _ always  _ worried about him.” 

Funny;  _ Elizabeth  _ and  _ worry  _ aren’t normally two words Neal would think of in the same sentence. “Maybe I am,” he mutters, still staring resolutely into his tea. “Just a little.” 

He braces himself for Peter’s teasing-not cruel, just their usual teasing, but he isn’t quite sure he can handle it when he  _ knows  _ how ridiculous he’s being, breaking into their house like this-but it doesn’t come. Instead, Peter sighs, leaning back in his seat. 

“You came here to check on me?” It isn’t really a question.

Rather than reply, he shrugs. 

“Hey, look at me.” Firm. Leaving no room for argument. (Not like that usually stops Neal, but tonight, he’s too tired to argue.) He complies, and Peter meets his eyes, calm and reassuring. “I’m fine, okay? A little banged up, but nothing that a week and some Ibuprofen won’t fix. You made it in time.” He smiles, just slightly. “You saved me.” 

He knows what it must cost Peter to say that, to admit that he needed someone to save him. So he gathers himself enough to reply. “I mean, really, you saved yourself.”

“I did, didn’t I?” And  _ oh man,  _ Peter is  _ preening,  _ which is the most ridiculous thing ever, and later, Neal’s definitely going to give him a hard time over it. 

With Peter right in front of him, real and  _ alive,  _ the panic in his chest starts to leech away. He’s okay. It really was just a dream. 

“Look, I’m sorry I woke you guys up.” He finishes off his tea in one go, before rising to his feet. “I should go. Let you get caught up on your sleep.” 

“You’re not going anywhere.” Old instincts well up for half a second at Peter’s sharp warning, a mix of hurt and panic that he can’t quite fight, but they’re quickly soothed by Peter adding, “I’ve already let the Marshals know you’re staying here tonight.” 

…. Oh, right. The Marshals get alerted when he breaks his perimeter. “Really?” 

“Yep!” Elizabeth offers him a warm smile. “Couch is already made up and everything.”

He glances over, to find that-sure enough-the couch is stacked with blankets and pillows. Apparently, he’d been too caught up in panic to notice before. 

His throat tightens inexplicably at the thought of them doing all of this-making the tea, making up the couch for him to  _ stay,  _ welcoming him into their home the way they’ve welcomed him into their lives-and he covers it the only way he knows how: with a cough and a quip. “Oh, is that what that’s for? I just thought Peter was in trouble for getting kidnapped.” 

Peter sputters in disbelief. “You know what? I changed my mind; you’re leaving.” But the corners of his lips twitch, belying his words. 

“Nope, sorry, no take-backs.” He darts over to the couch, tossing a smirk back over his shoulders, before setting to work fixing up the pillows and blankets. Two pillows, he decides, and two blankets. The rest, he moves to the end of the couch. 

Of course, if Peter truly wants him to leave-or if Elizabeth does, for that matter-he will. But somehow, he trusts that they don’t. Somehow, some way, they really want him here. 

He slips under the covers, snuggling in. The couch really is surprisingly comfortable. (Or maybe he’s exhausted, and now that he finally isn’t panicking, he’d find a rock comfortable. Hard to say, really.) 

He doesn’t remember closing his eyes, but when he hears footsteps approaching, he opens them, blinking up blearily. Elizabeth and Peter are both smiling down at him, warm and sure, and he grapples for words. “Thank you for the… Tea,” he manages. “And… Everything else.” 

Whether or not they understand what all that entails, he isn’t sure. Either way, Elizabeth steps forward, stroking his hair once in reassurance. “Get some sleep,” she murmurs, dropping a soft kiss to his forehead. 

She draws back, and he blinks up at Peter, taking one last look to make sure that he’s actually fine.

“Well, I’m not kissing you,” Peter drawls, and Neal rolls his eyes, burrowing into the pillow. 

“Believe me, I didn’t ask you to.” 

Peter chuckles, and Neal expects that to be the end of it, but after a moment, he feels a pressure on his shoulder: a hand. “Goodnight, Neal.” 

Later, Neal will swear that he answers. That he doesn’t nod off in the middle of a conversation. But for everyone there that night, they all know the truth. 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading, and I hope you enjoyed!


End file.
